


Not For Sale

by Omorka



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omorka/pseuds/Omorka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon patches up Mal after a barfight and jailbreak, and finds out what the fight was over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not For Sale

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompts "cell, hurt, medbay, sutures."

Simon looked at Mal through the bars and frowned. Not the usual subtle frown, with the wrinkle between his eyebrows; this was theatrical, arms crossed over the chest and everything, and made his eyes squinty. "Had enough fun with your little bar fight?" he asked, voice tight.

"Could've been worse." Mal grinned and tried to look up without moving his neck too much. A fresh warm trickle down his collarbone told him he'd failed. "You should see the other guy."

"I did." Simon's scowl deepened; there, now the wrinkle showed up. "I had to sign the death certificate."

"Oh." Mal sat up; that meant the charge had just changed from assault to murder. "_Gou shi._"

"Tell me about it." Simon rolled his eyes.

The captain struggled to his feet and nearly fell. There was something wrong with his left foot, in addition to the knife wound from ear to shoulder blade. "They got a hangin' judge in this town?"

"I imagine so," Simon agreed. "More to the point, I suspect there's only one judge here, and there's a gallows in the town square, so . . . "

Mal shook his head. "Zoe?" He didn't want to suggest a plan; there was no telling who might be listening.

A thump came from the end of the hallway. "I believe," Simon said with a curt nod, "that she's just arrived. And as soon as she brings the keys she's removing from the sheriff, I can do something about that gash, but please don't move until she gets here. You've lost a lot of blood."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Mal muttered, and promptly passed out.

\---

He was lying on his stomach, and the light in his eyes was way too bright. He tried to hold up one hand to block it and discovered that moving that shoulder was incredibly painful. He switched hands; there, that worked.

The doctor was washing something in the sink behind him. "This business of you waking up thirty minutes before the anesthesia should wear off has got to stop," Simon said quietly as he dried the hemostat and tucked it into its slot in the drawer.

" 'M tough," Mal said, trying to push himself to one elbow and mostly succeeding. The last of that anesthesia was making his tongue thick. "Wha' happened to m' foot?"

"When the gentleman you were waving your gun at rushed you, he threw you into the billiards table," Simon explained. "Where he proceeded to smash your foot with a pool cue, right before he came at you with the knife."

"Oh, yeah." The memory was muzzy, but it was coming back. "Why'd I wanna threaten him again?"

"I don't know," Simon said slowly. "I didn't hear what he said before you drew."

"I did," came Jayne's voice from the medbay door. "He asked how much you were for the night." A smirk creased his coarse features. "Guess the captain decided we couldn't spare you that long." He stopped grinning and faced Mal. "Zoe said to tell you Wash is takin' us the long way round, just in case we were followed."

Mal nodded. "We make the drop-off?"

"Yup." The ragged smile returned. "Got paid on time, too. 'Cept for you gettin' sliced up and shootin' that guy, the job went pretty smooth. Well, that and bustin' you back out."

Mal laid back down. "Tell Zoe that Wash can take whatever route he wants as long as we make it back to Littlefall on time." Jayne nodded and left, still grinning.

"_Hou zi_ doesn't care about anything other than the pay," Simon muttered as he checked the dressing on Mal's shoulder.

"Mmm." Mal tried to give him an appraising gaze; it was difficult, looking up. "How much you figure I could have gotten for you, and saved myself all this trouble?"

Simon looked away, shadows in his eyes. "Oh, not much, I'd imagine. A soft core-worlder like me wouldn't last too long as rough trade."

Mal shifted and reached out with the good hand, catching at Simon's wrist. "Nah. You made it through a hospital internship; you can go all night, right?" He tried to leer and ended up wincing instead.

Simon looked back, eyes hooded. "I . . . suppose."

Mal blinked. "Help me up," he ordered; Simon hesitated, then shifted his hands so he was holding the captain's arm instead of the other way around. Mal levered himself sideways and rolled off the surgical cot, landing mostly on his good foot. Steadying himself on Simon's arm, he stood up; the doctor's pulse beat under his fingers.

He looked into Simon's eyes. "Thanks for patching me up. Again." He didn't let go.

"Perhaps I should be thanking you for . . . defending my honor," Simon murmured.

Mal nodded. "Sure." He trailed off, then started again. "Although, if you wanted to thank me proper, we could go about besmirchin' it."

Simon blinked. Mal leaned forward; this was always so hard to judge. "Or not. Up to you."

"Did you just proposition me?" Simon's voice was level, but his pulse-rate had jumped.

"Yeah. More or less." Mal swallowed. "Figured the cat was out of the bag at this point. I could've just said you weren't for sale instead of takin' that guy all personal." Fat chance. It had felt like someone had asked him how much Serenity was, and the _hun dan_ hadn't been going to take no for an answer.

"Ah." Simon's jaw worked, slowly, but instead of continuing whatever sentence he'd started in his head, he leaned in and brushed his lips experimentally against Mal's cheek. Mal turned into the kiss and caught him, pressing his mouth to Simon's fiercely, possessively.

"Careful," Simon whispered, coming up for air. "You don't want to open the sutures."

"Not what I wanna open," agreed Mal, clutching at Simon's shirt.

Simon shook his head. "Not right now. Not here." He glanced back once, then eased himself to the floor like sand pouring in an hourglass. One long-fingered hand ran down Mal's bare chest, dancing along the lines of old scars; the other undid his fly.

Mal leaned against the wall, gasping, as Simon drew his half-hard cock into his mouth and he jolted erect despite the pain in his foot. This was good, so good, but this was Simon repaying him. It wasn't desire. Not what he wanted; Simon wasn't for sale, to him or anyone else. Or was it? Simon's eyes were huge and dark as they looked up at him, and he moaned as his tongue danced along Mal's shaft in precise little arcs. The doc wouldn't be moaning if he didn't want Mal, at least a little bit, would he?

He dug his good hand into Simon's silky hair, closed his eyes, and promised himself that the next time would be in a bunk, on clean sheets, without any blood on either of them.


End file.
